


The Riddle

by vidocqsociety



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidocqsociety/pseuds/vidocqsociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored. John attempts to keep him occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Riddle

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this between the first and second series, so I imagine it to take place before "The Great Game."

“Bored.” Sherlock shuffled into the living room from the kitchen. John ignored him, content to read. Sherlock loomed over him, silently demanding his attention. John turned the page, perfectly content to ignore him. Sherlock sensed this tactic wasn’t working. “ _Bored_ ,” he said again.

“You like that word.”

“I _detest_ that word,” he retorted. “It represents everything hateful: peace and stagnation and _calm_.” The last was said with particular hostility. He shuffled back into the kitchen. Things began to rattle. “BORED!”

John sighed and closed his book. “What can go up a chimney down, but not down a chimney up?”

The noise stopped. He appeared next to John’s chair again. “What?”

“What can go—?”

“I heard you the first time,” Sherlock interrupted, waving his hand. “Is that a riddle?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re giving me a riddle to occupy me? Like I’m a child?”

“Yes,” John said. “Because you _are_ like a child.”

“I am not—!”

“You’re whinging on about being bored and nothing’s interesting and you’re pestering me to entertain you! In what universe isn’t that childish?”

Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and collapsed onto the sofa, arms folded. John opened his book again. If Sherlock wanted to sulk, that was fine with him. As long as he was quiet about it.

“Smoke.”

“What happened to the nicotine patches?”

Sherlock sighed, vexed. “No,” he said slowly. “The answer. Is it smoke?”

John couldn't help but be amused. “You’re actually thinking about this?”

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

“It’s not smoke. Smoke doesn’t go down.”

“It can if the density of the ambient air--”

“It’s a children’s riddle, Sherlock. The answer isn’t going to involve air density!”

“Should do,” he muttered. “It would make the answer more interesting.”

“You don't even know what the answer _is_ yet.”

Sherlock glowered at him before flinging himself into his thinking pose: stretched out along the sofa, hands pressed together under his chin, staring up at the ceiling. The only sign of life to be found was the steady rise and fall of his chest. John returned to his book, but he couldn’t help but smile. He could practically hear the hard drive of Sherlock’s brain whirring.

“You want a hint?” John couldn’t resist teasing him, if only a little.

Sherlock scowled, offended. “Decidedly not.” He fell into thoughtful silence again. “A bird.”

“No.”

“A bird is capable of going both up and down a chimney.”

“Down a chimney up.”

“If there’s a fire, it could use thermals—”

“It’s not the answer.”

Sherlock huffed again. John bit his lip, trying not to laugh. It was rare that Sherlock was frustrated, but when it happened, it was fun to watch. “Santa?”

“Nope.”

“Thought not.”

“It was worth a try,” John allowed.

“Though I don’t know how he could possibly get back up a chimney.”

“ _That's_ the problem you have with Santa?”

“It's _a_ problem I have with him.”

“You have more than one?”

“Always have. Jolly fat man in a red suit coming along to give presents to good little children—who honestly believes that nonsense?”

“I'm beginning to get an idea about those Christmas dinners.”

“Calculations have been made,” he continued. “91.8 million homes—presuming there is at least one deserving child in each—in 31 hours, which is 822.6 visits per second. The speed required for him to complete such a task would kill him instantly.”

“It's for _children_ , Sherlock.”

“Children are stupid.”

“And what are the people who waste their time making daft-ass calculations about _Santa Claus_?”

Sherlock considered this. “Inquisitive.”

John sighed. Most people focused on Sherlock's destructive nature when he was bored. In all honesty, John preferred it. The gunshots, the fires, the deliberate explosions... they could all be stopped, and rather easily. Just take away whatever it was he was working with. It was when he was being deliberately obtuse, that was what John couldn't stand. Sherlock was relentless, trying to get anyone and everyone to argue with him merely because it was something to _do_.

Something to do was exactly what John needed, specifically something outside of the flat and away from his flatmate. He closed his book and put it on the table. “Don't step on that when you deign to rise,” he said. He got up, put his coat on, and picked up his keys.

“Where are you going?”

“Food,” he said. “You know, that thing us normal people need to survive? I'm getting some. I'm starved.”

“What are you getting?”

“I was thinking of trying that new Japanese place ‘round the corner. You want anything?” He knew it was fruitless, but he still had to ask. John was a hopeful man by nature.

“What about the riddle?”

“I think you can handle it alone for a bit.” A thought dawned on him rather suddenly—a brilliantly cruel (if you were Sherlock) thought. “If you need help, ask your brother.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, ignoring the implication that he would need assistance for such a petty thing. “What on earth does Mycroft have to do with your inane riddle?”

John gave him a very serious look and said cryptically as he could, “Your brother holds the answer.” Before Sherlock could reply, he was out the door and down the stairs.

John got eight steps into the street before his phone trilled with a new text message: _You utter bastard. That's not funny. SH_

John laughed. He texted back, _Knew you'd need a hint._

_Shut up. I did not. It was completely unsolicited. Also, I want miso. SH_

**Author's Note:**

> The answer, if you were curious, is "an umbrella."


End file.
